Redemption
by Deflating Venus's Ego
Summary: One Shot for The Seven Deadly Sins Writing Comp. Jack Slater was always the Odd One Out in his family, while his older brother Paul was the complete opposite. But Jack was going to change that . . . at whatever cost it took.


One of my Entries to the Seven and Deadly: WriteComp on MCBC

Jake Slater + Envy/Wrath

Enjoy!

Oh, and also there is one scene in particular that is all in italics _(Like This_), which is not happening. It's all in Jack's head, just voices in his head. You'll see what I mean. Alright, _now_ enjoy!

(P.S. Do not be offended with language in the story. Nothing bad or anything, just you know)

* * *

Redemption

"Hello Jack! It's so good to finally see you!"

I smiled up at the man who answered the door. It was around nine o' clock that clear, dark blue night, the stars practically blinding me with their shining. _What a long flight_, I thought to myself. I'll admit it, I was dreadfully tired. And cold. I guess I forgot how cold Carmel could be at night; the ocean-side fog was freezing the parts of my legs that my Bermuda shorts didn't cover to ice, and it was like stepping into an ice-box alone!

_What a perfect night._

"Well what are you standing there for? You must be freezing! Come in, come in!" The man said, and I walked inside. He took my bags as I did this and started to bring them into what I'm guessing was the kitchen. Okay, he seemed nice enough, with dirty blond hair mopped on the top of his head and smoky grey eyes. I think his name was Mark too. As he walked away, I noticed that he was also wearing a light blue nurse's suit that was too big for him, and had on fuzzy white bunny slippers.

_What an optimistic weirdo_. I turned my attention back to the room in question. I was in a long, dark hallway with no windows. There wasn't that much in here, except for a little table at the end of it with a bowl of mints in it and a mirror hanging over it. I couldn't see myself in it, except for my eyes. Dull, pale blue eyes.

God _damn_ pale blue

I made it to the end of the hall into the 'living room'. It was some sight, let me tell you: It was shag carpeted, the color a simple grey to match the ice-mansion affect this place had. There was a long, black, sleek-looking table, a big black leather couch behind it to match. Oh, and a fire was crackling rhythmically, flames licking greedily for air . . . for freedom. _Escape_.

So, was this how it was? How it was to live on the 'other side of the tracks?' His perfect life, having servants around him twenty-four hours a day and living for free in an extremely plushed-up mansion?

What's-His-Face-Mark suddenly came up from behind, startling the living ba-jebbies outta me. He gave me an apologetic look before saying "You're just going to_ love_ it here, Jack. I've always loved it here in Carmel, there's just something about it you know? That makes it seem so . . . magical." Oh God. Kill me, please? "And there are so many _magnificent _places here too. The beaches . . . the stores . . .the festivals . . .Big Sur . . .the schools; oh, it's just a shame you're only staying for the summer!" Yeah, what a shame . . .

_Not_.

But if everything goes as planned, I won't even be around for the night.

Something suddenly started hissing loudly from the kitchen, and What's-His-Face-Mark turned around and rushed back into the dark hallway, muttering something about burning the meatloaf and calling over his shoulder to me, "Jack, can you please get Paul down for dinner! I know this is so sudden I'm sorry; we didn't even realize you were coming so early, your grandfather, Paul and me. Paul's room should be up the stairs down the hall and the last one to your right!" and then he was gone.

For a moment I felt nervous. I didn't think I'd see him this early; maybe in a few hours the least. What if he figured out what I was planning to do? What if he did, and tried to stop me? What if –

_No, stop it Jack. He's _not_ going to find out about this. You've worked too hard, _planned_ to long for this to fail. He is _not_ taking this away from you . . ._

I climbed up the cold metal stairs, heading for the upstairs. The stairs clicked and clanked so much under my weight that I was afraid I was going to fall, and the fact that it wasn't really supported or closed, that one rectangle shaped 'step' jetted out of the wall so you could go up and that was it, didn't help much. Not that I was overweight or anything, I guess. Just . . . not fit either. I didn't have that _tennis_ figure, you could say.

By the time I got up to the top of the stairs, I was a _little_ worn out. Damnit, I needed to get into _shape_. This hallway was just as dark as the first one when I came in. Only this one had windows all to my right; big, glossy windows that you could see _everything_ from, especially the sand from the cliff nearby. But I couldn't see the ocean.

So with only the dim light of the full moon, which was being hidden behind the leafy trees outside, I started moving down the hallway. I was genuinely surprised that there wasn't that much in here; again the hall was bare, nothing like my house in Chicago. Well, not really; my Chicago house was always neat and crap, but at _least_ there were some pictures on the wall. Even if most of them didn't have me in them, but more of –

"Ah come on, just this once. I won't bite . . ."

_Paul._

My limbs froze, and I stood there in shock. It was _him_, really really him. Breath caught in my throat, I slowly made my way to the door at the end of the hall that had a little stream of light seeping through a crack I hadn't seen before. _Breathe . . . in . . . and out . . ._ I moved closer to the door until I my ear was pressed up against the door. I tried to keep my breathing even, but it was so hard. He was so close, all I had to do was open the door, catch him by surprise for a few minutes . . .

He spoke again, in this silky, persuasive patter. "Yeah, I know we're just _study_ partners Anna, but I was just thinking, you know, me and you could . . . learn some new _tricks_, if you know what I mean."

I made a noise of disgust. He was such a tool, I swear. What with all his corny one-liners, and trying to act all 'cool' and crap. It was pathetic, sickening.

But all the girls swooned around him. And while Paul got all the girls, what did Jack get?

_Jack gets nothing. As usual. _

It was such a _waste_ how everything good happened to people like _him_; the foul and cruel human failures of society, and how it never happened to the others, the ones who deserved it so much more. Plain injustice –

The door swung open so suddenly that I squealed as I crashed to the floor (I'll admit I'm not the most graceful person when I'm scared.) When I looked up from my untidy heap on the floor, I gasped when I saw him, glaring down at me with hatred.

_My own flesh and blood, my brother_.

"What the hell are you doing, Jack?" He asked me angrily. I scrambled up to my feet hurryingly, trying to seem not so guilty.

"Me? I – I uh . . . I was just . . . see, the a . . . dinner is . . . done, and I was just . . . if you want some, I mean . . ." My voice was suddenly all squeaky and my throat was raw. What was _wrong_ with me?

Paul just looked at me with a disgusted sneer, as if just looking at me was, as I've heard some of the girls at school say, 'Social Suicide', his sharp blue eyes boring into me. "Whatever. Get out of my way, squirt." And he grabbed the top of my head and pushed me forcefully into the wall, and walked down the stairs. I noticed the stairs didn't try to move away from under him like they did with me.

I hated feeling this way, like I was a trapped animal, being thrown and laughed at by the bigger, stronger animals. Paul always made me feel like this, like he radiated despair and misery wherever he went. I especially hated being afraid of him, because in reality, I wanted to stay as far away from him as possible. Because he was powerful, more power than I could ever be, as he's told me before. As he's _showed_ me before. I could never be as great as he was, and never would be. _I was nothing_, I could almost hear his voice ringing in my head. _Nothing_.

_But I was going to change that._

* * *

I twisted and turned around in the white sheets around me. I was _very_ uncomfortable. It was almost midnight, and I was sleeping in the guest room downstairs. Dinner had been terrible; besides the fact that yes, What's-His-Face-Mark burned the meatloaf, and Grandpa pretty much drooled the entire time, Paul kept on making cracks at me. Making fun of my height, my grades, how I didn't have a girlfriend . . . everything.

So what if I wasn't the top in my class, or not team captain of any sport or whatever? What did it matter? Apparently a lot, in the real world.

I shoved my thin pillow over my head and gritted my teeth, trying to rid the voices that were pounding on my head. _Why can't you be more like your older brother, Jack?_ My mother had said to me many, many times in my short lifetime already. Everyone always asked me that, _why can't you make friends like your brother? Why can't you pay attention to school like he does? Why don't you try being in an after-school program, like Paul has?_

I've known I've been failure to my parents. Because I wasn't like their little _golden child_, Paul. To them I was the outcast, the loser. I could never do anything right, even if I tried in their eyes.

For years I lived alone in my little bubble of a world, going through life one painful day at a time. No light came through my dark shadow of a life to save me. I was alone, frightened, stingingly annoyed, and confused. What was the matter with me? How come I wasn't more like Paul? Those questions racked my brain when I was younger, hovering over me like a constant reminder. _You'll never be as good as him._

_Freak._

I knew I was different from everyone else, what with my special 'gift' and all, but never had I realized how bad it was. How bad it _could_ be. My gift didn't just pop up whenever a ghost did; it followed me around my house, outside, everywhere I went it's horridness was the shadow, was the cause of my pain. Or at least a part of it. At school, everyone noticed this too, and avoided me at all costs. Sure, I tried to make friends, talk to others, participate in class, ask a girl out once . . . but to no avail.

But _he_ never had to suffer like I did. Everything came so damn _easy_ for him, it was like he had the world in the palm of his hands, and any and everyone was willing to serve him. He had the friends; he had the _girl_friends, the popularity, the all-in-all _coolness_ and confidence that just _shined_ off him. The money didn't have anything to do with these things, like I thought it would.

This room, this house, this _town_, it all showed his perfection, his superior-ness. I was struggling in my sheets now, they were wrapping tightly around me, suffocating me. I wanted out, I _needed_ out. Out of his perfect shadow, out of always being expected to reach the high standards he made, and then shunned when I failed. I breathed out hotly. I just wanted this ever-lasting torment to be_ over_. I wanted him to be over, to be _gone_.

I hated this whole freaking place. I hated _him_, god damnit!

And I _never_ want to be 'just' like him.

The moon that had been hiding behind different things all night loomed over my bed, finally in view and glowing up so high. I looked down to the clock next to the guest bed. Twelve o' clock, midnight.

_It was time. The pain was almost over._

And I was ready. I threw the covers back from the bed, covered in cold sweat. I went over to the corner of the room, where my bag was. Opening it up a little, I took out everything I needed, which wasn't a lot. I didn't pack that much into my backpack anyway. I wouldn't need any of my extra clothes where I was going.

Chicken blood . . . candles . . . his picture and mine . . .

The news article online said that it would be just like an exorcism. All you really needed to do was render whoever you were going to do it to(The _Lenton_) inside the circle of candles and then do same for the other person you're doing it to also (The _Recipero_) and read. I wasn't sure what happened after that. And they said it was going to be a painless act . . .

All _I _have to say is thank you Dr. Slaski. Whoever you may be.

Lastly, I took the crinkly sheet of paper out of my bag. In the moonlight it was a pale yellow, and it felt like sandpaper on my skin. But it was still intact, which was all I cared about. No one had to know what I did to get this anyway, all the people I've destroyed, hurt –

_All for a good cause, of course_.

I slipped out of my room, the stuff clicking around in my arms. I had to stop a few times, thinking that someone was still awake, watching me. But I pushed that thought aside. Everyone was asleep, and What's-His-Face-Mark had gone home for the night. _I was all alone again_.

I crept up the stairs again, making sure not to look down. I really didn't go for heights, and I especially didn't want anything to fall and break. As I reached the top of the stairs, I could hear the faint sounds of a T.V. I froze. _Who could be up at this hour? Besides me, anyway_. What if it was Paul? My heart started pounding harder, so much against my chest that it hurt. Oh _crap_ . . .

I realized later though that Paul didn't watch old reruns of _Jeopardy_ on the Game Network.

But I wasn't taking any chances. When I reached the top of the stairs, I turned left until I was facing the very last opened door. The door was open, and the dim lights in there were changing because of the T.V show on. I stuck my head inside, expecting to be told off or something –

But it was just Grandpa again, snoring really loudly from his bed. What's-His-Face-Mark forgot to turn the T.V off before he left. Oh well, that wasn't my problem. It was probably for the best the T.V was left on, so the screams didn't wake him.

I turned around and headed back to the other side of the hall. As I passed the windows again, I barely took in the scenery. There was no time for beauty right now.

_Breathe in . . . breathe out . . ._ slowly, I turned Paul's doorknob, my hand shaking aggressively. I was nervous. What if my plan didn't work? I'll tell you what would happen:

Paul would kill me. Beat me into a bloody pulp and then slash me open, even if I was his brother. I wasn't doing a very brotherly thing myself. Maybe I shouldn't do this, maybe I should just go back downstairs, crawl back into bed, and forget about this whole thing.

Despite my body's plea to run and hide, I pushed open the door and gasp. The room was _huge_. The room was mostly glass and metal. There was a shiny desk with a laptop on it. There was a book case and a huge boat sized bed. Where _he_ was sleeping soundlessly. And that was pretty much it in the room, besides the huge window above his bed, where you could almost hear the ocean crashing down into the rocks.

A tidal wave, it was. Suddenly, anger burst-ed through my veins like one, a huge tidal wave threatening to drown me. He even had a better _room_ then me? My room was like a _fourth_ of what this was.

Did you know it was _his_ idea that I stay for the summer? Did you? Dad told me it was, and that I behave. Said it was because Paul missed me, and wanted to spend some 'time' with me. Now I can see it was all a lie. He just wanted to rub his _perfect_ life into my face. The one I didn't have, and he knew it. I was just another notch in his belt, another one of his victims that he could mess with whenever he damn well please. He even did it in his _sleep_!

Well, not anymore. I'm _not_ like others, and I want him to pay. I want what he wants, I want the life he _owes _me, the one I _deserve_!

I had to work fast if I was going to get this done. The moon was directly over us now, and if I waited too long then it would be too late. Time was of the essence.

I took the candles out of the bag, some red and some white. I took the white candles and scattered them around the outside of the room. These I really didn't need , they were just silencers, so no one who didn't need to hear what was about to happen, never did. When the room was soundproof, I took out the red ones. These were the important ones, the ones that I needed if I wanted to do this right. I put six of these candles around the bed, and thee other six around me. Paul didn't even stir.

To make sure everything was working so far, I knelled to the floor and whispered one barely audible word, "_Aduro_."

A second later, the first six candles lit around me in a flaming blue light. The smell of lavender greeted me, and I relaxed at the sweet affect it had on me. Then the other candles started lighting around me, one at a time; the other red ones around the bed and then the white ones. The whole room was covered with the smell of lavender now, making the air all heavy and humid.

Paul was still asleep. I leaned out of my little circle and grabbed the chicken blood that I knocked down before on the floor. Once I got it, I unscrewed the lid from the jar and poured it around the floor, in the shapes that I remembered the news letter had said to the best I could. The smell was pungent, disgusting. And mixed with the lavender, it smelled like I was in a graveyard with all the bodies out of their cascades.

Then sprayed with lavender-scented air freshener. Man, I knew I should have gotten the non- scented ones.

But there was no time for regrets now. I needed to hurry. The room was starting to smell _really_ bad, and it was getting kind of hot in here. I could feel a trickle of sweat running down my forehead. I took the paper from the floor too and, wiping my brow, started to read.

I remember this part of an exorcism. You had to read some strange words in a different language, then something should start happening. A big, swirling black hole should appear up above us now, with stars brighter than the ones here on earth blinking down at us and fog around the opening. But nothing happened. I read the part over again, making sure I pronounced everything right. God, I hate Latin. What a _stupid_ language. I didn't even understand what I was _reading_. After the second and third time I read it, still nothing happened.

I started to panic. What if I got the wrong sheet or something? Like I got a curse that turns people into toads or something? I didn't want to be turned into a toad! Or maybe I didn't put enough blood on the floor? I still had some left in the jar, just in case I needed more. And just as I was about to reach over for more blood, the candles burned even brighter than before, turning this really dark shade of blue and burning brighter and brighter. Before it exploded.

"OH MY GOD!" I screamed, stepping back. The flames suddenly swirled around me, coming very close to burning me. They suddenly jetted upward, wrapping me in a cylinder of flames that reached the ceiling and oozed out like fog. I was trapped, and afraid that I was going to get burnt if I tried to escape. Not that I had a choice.

"Wha – what's going on?" I looked up in shock, and saw Paul standing on top of his bed, mouth wide open, and was trapped in a cylinder of flames just like I was.

"Paul! Help! I'm trapped and don't know what to do!" I hated asking him for help, especially since this is my fault anyway, but I had no choice. Just more prove how pathetic I was in this world.

"What did you _do_, Jack?" He asked me accusingly, glaring down hard. The room was getting strangely foggy all over, and it was sort of hard to see.

"_Nothing!" I yelled. The smells, the heat, the fire . . . it was all too much. I just wanted to run, run away and wait for tomorrow._

_Paul tried moving through the fires wrapped around him, but then hissed back in pain. He looked up at me and said coldly "You know what I think Jack? I think you're a freaking retard."_

_My eyes went dilate in shock at what he said. I called out to him, "No I'm not! Don't call me that!"_

_But he didn't listen. Instead he said, "And to think you're my brother! How could you do this, Jake? Haven't I told you before; you're not a shifter, so stop acting like one! You don't have the knowledge or strength to control such great power Jack, and now look where we are! We're about to die and it's all your fault!"_

_I shoved my fist into my ears and closed my eyes. No, I didn't want to believe him, not for a second. He could not be right about this. Everything was going great until this, where did I go wrong? Maybe he was right, maybe I was just some dumb retarded little kid who could even save his own skin from certain death before me . . ._

_No freaking way._

_I looked out at him, glaring back. "Shut UP Paul!"_

"_I should have never let you come!" He continued. "You should have stayed in the rat hole you came out of! I was right and you know it – you'll never be one of us! You're just – just –" he stuttered a bit from the smoke. "You're nothing, Jack!"_

When I heard that, I snapped. All the fear, the shame, the _regret_, was gone. The only thing I could feel was anger. I was shaking so hard, glaring at him, wishing he was _dead_. How could I even feel that way for this little asshole? _How_?

"Jack?" I barely heard him ask, I was so far gone. For a moment I thought I heard anxiety in his voice, but I could be wrong. "Did you hear what I said? Are you alright? What the hell is going on?"

"Like you don't know?" I said to him coldly, wheezing. My hands were clenched into fists, my eyes almost glazed over. I felt dizzy and sick. I could barely see anything; it was like my whole world had suddenly turned red . . .

And I didn't give.

Paul was getting uneasy, I could tell. He gave a nervous laugh, looking around the fog that was starting to engulf the floor. "Uh, actually I don't. Maybe you could enlighten me or something?" He smiled a little.

He was making fun of me. "I said SHUT UP PAUL!" I yelled, jerking forward. He looked _really_ nervous now; almost scared I'll go so far as to say.

"Jack, what the hell is _wrong_ with you? All I ask was –"

"I know what you said _Paul_." I snarled loudly, my nose flaring. "You must think I'm pretty stupid, huh? That I'm a little kid – that I'm _nothing_."

"What are you talking about? I don't think that." Paul looked at me like I was crazy or something. He even looked a little hurt. Like he had anything to be hurt of!

"Yeah sure Paul, of course you didn't tell me what a _failure_ you thought I was, how pathetic and loser-y I was. I know I'll never be _like_ you." I suddenly realized I forgot something. Something that was very important, if this thing was going to work. _Damn_, how could I of been so stupid to forget them? I took them out of my pocket, and crumbled them up within each other, intertwined.

"But I never said anything about _being_ you."

Paul's eyes bugged out when he finally understood what I meant. And he tried to get me to change my mind. He thrashed and yelled, trying to break through the fire to get to me. But it didn't work, he couldn't break free even if he tried (Not that I could break free myself . . . I still didn't know what it was there for anyway). "Jack, come on stop! Don't do this, it isn't right! Jack, come on!" Then, with desperation stringing his voice, he said, "Please!"

I thought I'd never see the day that Paul Slater would show he was afraid. Ever. His face was pale (And sweaty, but so was mine), and he was breathing really hard. And he was pleading. Telling me to stop, don't do it, it's too dangerous, and other shit like that.

What a freaking little pussy.

So I didn't listen to him. I yelled, "You thought I can't _control_ my powers, Paul? Well guess what – YOU'RE WRONG! I'll show you just how powerful I can BE!"

With that I took the pictures, the one that had both Paul and me in them where we were both, surprisingly, smiling, and threw them into my part of the fire.

The room started shaking viciously. The fog, that had sort of given off that nice, calm feeling before was now scattering around us, making this low, loud wheezing noise in its wake. The Fire-Cylinders around us turned red, and started closing on us. The heat of the flames licking at my feet was unbearable, I could barely breathe. More smoke was circling, and black smoke started emitting around us. Paul's room was getting torched to hell. The other candles – the white ones that were still intact – were rising higher and higher, almost touching the ceiling. I was sweating so much at this point, like I had just run a twenty mile race. The flames were just about it touch my vulnerably exposed skin, and I knew this was it –

But it wasn't. The flames didn't touch me. Instead they expanded and shot out throughout the room. Paul's did too. As those flames collided, they caused such force outward that I was thrown back into the wall, knocking over some of the candles. I heard Paul scream one last, mournful cry, as if he was in pain, and then:

Nothing.

I was too hot at this point, and I was chocking from the dryness of my mouth. I needed some _water_. I opened my eyes, and I'll I saw was flames. Regular, bright orange flames, crawling up the walls and melting everything in sight. The bed was starting to catch fire, too. _Must get out._ I thought. My brain was telling my body to move, but it barely responded.

_Move your arms_. I thought, but they only lifted a few inches off my lap. My hands were longer than they used to be, longer and seemed . . . stronger, than usual. The fire had reached the top of the bed, and was hurting my hand. _Come on! Move!_ What was happening? Why couldn't I move properly?

I had to try, at least. I pulled myself up from the sitting position I was in by the window (How'd I get there?) and instantly regretted it. Pain shot through my tired being, stabbing me over and over again. The right side of my head was throbbing rhythmically. God, I felt like I was going to die.

The flames were getting closer, and I was decided. Screw it, I'm gone. I pushed myself up again, and kicked off the bed and crashed to the floor. I was throbbing so much, it wasn't even funny. I crawled my way to the door, avoiding smoldering pieces of books and broken glass. When I made it to the door, it was covered with flames. I grabbed the door handle and pushed my way up. My legs were wobbling and hurt like the hell behind me. When did I get so tall?

But I didn't think about that just then. I wanted out, so I opened the door and stumbled out, locking the door behind me. I could have sworn I saw something – or some_one_ – very small, about my size, lying helplessly on the floor, but it could have all been in my mind.

The fire was out of control, and I needed to escape before this whole place went up in smoke. I struggled my way to the stairs, and banging my chest on the railing. Wait – chest? I didn't have a _chest_, more of a beer-gut at best. But a _chest_ chest? I don't think so.

So what was the deal?

I crumbled down the stairs, and started running to the door. I was starting to get the feeling back in my legs. And I felt this _surge_ run through me, like a . . . power, an intense power I wanted to stick my hands deep in and drink of. _With pleasure_. I've never felt this way before. I understood why when I came to the last hallway, where the front door was at the end. Before I went out, I turned to that mirror and gasp, looking forward at it in shock. And in the dark, staring back at me were eyes.

Bright blue eyes.

I'm not the vainest person alive, but when I saw myself in that mirror, I might as well of started kissing my reflection. Or, better yet, not _my_ actual twelve-year-old reflection, but older. My face features were different; instead of the square, slightly chubby face with the big rosy cheeks, I saw sharp, even features. My face was longer, sleeker looking, and I had suddenly sprouted facial hair on my chin. My face looked fuller, a lot healthier. My hair wasn't as puffy and unruly, but slightly curly and shorter, and wrapped around the nap of my neck.

And I started smirking when I realized my plan had worked.

I had told everyone that I didn't want to be _like_ Paul.

_But I never said I wanted to actually 'be' him._

It was his own fault, in the end. This was just his punishment; for all that he's done his lies, his secrets, his manipulations, his _sins_. I was just trying to help, and Soul Transference was theonly answer. Tomake him seethe error ofhis ways, and send him to the place he belongs.

For his soul to burn in Hell for all eternity.

Maybe this would help him.

I took some mints on my way out, and watched that house burn to the ground.

When the police came, all they'd find are ashes and melted glass. No bodies, no evidence. But did this matter to me? No. I got what I deserve, what I've hungered for, the _life_ I've always wanted. And the person I've always wanted to be.

_I was Paul Slater now_.


End file.
